by B. V. Larson
Brand stepped out into the glade and eyed the giant. The slack face drooped down upon the chest. Somehow, seeing the great being in death caused him to feel a twinge of pity for it. There were so few of its kind, and he could see that in many ways it was like a huge lonely child.
“Why did he come here?” he asked aloud as the Myrrdin came out of the forest behind him. He turned to Myrrdin. “Why did Twrog come here to die?
“I’ve told you about this spot before. Recall the story of Vaul. This is the spot where I came to possess the Green Jewel.”
Brand marveled at the tree, circling it. He remembered the tale well. Myrrdin had told him that he had found it inside a huge tree in the Deepwood. He had dug it out of the tree with the help of a giant. Brand nodded slowly, understanding now. Twrog was the giant who had helped Myrrdin dig the Green Jewel from its living encasement.
“And the club? It is a piece of this great oak, isn’t it? That is why it didn’t shatter when I struck it with the axe. It was enchanted by your Jewel.”
Brand mounted the tree, climbing up some fallen limbs.
“Sometimes Brand,” said the wizard, “it’s best not to look too closely at the past.”
Brand ignored him. He climbed up until he could see into the rotted core of the huge trunk. He saw where the Green Jewel must have been discovered. Encased inside the core of the trunk were white bones.
But the bones enveloped in six feet of solid oak did not surprise him. He had known that the previous owner of the Green Jewel had been overcome by it, and had been consumed by it. The power of the Jewel was the creation of huge, roiling growth, and that was also the danger of it. Unless one mastered the Green Jewel fully, the wielder could become one with the greenery it so loved to create.
So, what surprised him was not the presence of the bones, but their size. The finger bones, each as thick as his own arm, were upraised from the core of the trunk upon a wrist of even thicker bones. Clearly, he looked upon the entombed skeleton of a giant, a giant that was even larger than Twrog. The upraised hand had once held Vaul and in a final act, had lifted the Jewel up to keep it from being consumed by the uncontrollable growths. The love the owner had for Vaul was beyond all else in the world. Even as Vaul killed her, the giant had reached up to ensure that the Green Jewel was the last thing to be consumed by the great tree’s trunk.
“She loved the Jewel more than even her own life, didn’t she?” asked Brand.
Myrrdin looked troubled. He had come to stand near Twrog’s foot, which was still caked with black forest earth and dried blood.
“The hand is here, Myrrdin, just as you said,” Brand said, “but you left out a critical detail. The hand is that of a giant. One even larger than Twrog here.”
“Yes,” said Myrrdin. He did not raise his eyes to meet Brand’s.
“She was his mother, wasn’t she? The giant you slayed to take the Green Jewel.”
Myrrdin sighed. “It was a very long time ago, Brand.”
Brand laughed. “You lied! No wonder you took pity upon Twrog. Compared to you, this creature was an innocent.”
“The Jewel consumed the she-giant. I didn’t slay her.”
“Nonsense. Come clean, man! Don’t you have enough riding on your conscience without more pretentions and deceptions? You did something. Something that caused her to wield the Jewel before she had mastered it, perhaps.”
“Brand, you have to understand the times. I was much like you. Young and new to battle. The last armies of your people were following me. They needed strength to stop Oberon.”
“Something vile. That’s what you did,” said Brand. He hopped and slid down the branches of the great oak to look up at Twrog’s corpse.
“Brand, you should understand better than anyone. What would you have done to save your people when we faced Herla in the Dead Kingdoms? Or, to put it more clearly, what would you not have done?”
Brand rubbed his chin with the attitude of one that was puzzling something out. “Oh, I’m not saying I’m better than you, wizard. Not that at all. I’m not saying I would have done anything different. But I am enjoying your discomfort. Let’s have it all out now, the truth.”
Myrrdin sighed and shook his head.
“None of that now. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Corbin could do it, and so will I. First, there was how you found the place. The Deepwood has a thicker, more lush growth of trees and brush than anywhere else known to us. That’s what attracted you here, to search for the Jewel. You knew it must be here somewhere.”
Myrrdin flashed him a look of sheepish annoyance and did not answer.
“Ah-ha!” shouted Brand. “I can see I’m on the right track. Let’s see, you figured out the she-giant had the Jewel. But giants are a simple folk, probably it would be difficult for her to master Vaul. Apparently, she knew this and you had to force her to do use Vaul’s power. So you…you went after her child, didn’t you? You captured him, tormented him perhaps. And so she used the only power she had, the Jewel, and it consumed her. After that, all you had to do was dig it out of the trunk. Am I missing any important bits?”
Myrrdin glared at him. “Let’s talk of other things.”
“Let’s finish the tale. Out of pity for the giant child, you cut him a great branch from this trunk and fashioned him a club from it, so he could survive alone in the wilds.”
Myrrdin looked up, thrusting his chin high. “Your deductions are close enough. But let us finally talk of current events. That’s what matters now. What do you plan to do with the Blue Jewel?”
“Oh, that? I’m supposed to hand it over to you. Perhaps you would be so good as to transport it for me to Oberon.”
Myrrdin shrugged. “You can walk the mound in Riverton and give it to him yourself, if you like.”
“No. No, I will not.”
“And why not Brand? Why not return it to the rightful owner and cause ruffled feathers to lie flat again? You might achieve another century of peace for your people.”
“What will Oberon trade me for the Jewel?”
“What do you suggest?”
Brand smiled widely. “I suggest an offering. Let them toil all year long, every year, and then bring to us the results of their labors. Magical cloths, rare gems and delicacies such as the fruits from their fantastic orchards.”
Myrrdin sputtered. “What nonsense! None of Faerie would toil for an instant to give their goods to the River Folk! Your demands border on the insane, Brand. The sibling Jewels have addled your mind.”
“Nevertheless, that is my price. Humanity has two Jewels, the Faerie, so far as I know, have none. If they want parity with our strength, they must face reality. They are no longer our overlords.”
“What you speak of is unthinkable. I would not even dare discuss it with Oberon, for fear of losing my head.”
Brand shrugged. “You wield the Green Jewel, you have nothing to fear from them.”
Myrrdin peered at him closely. “You have no intention of returning the Jewel to Oberon, do you? This is not a serious offer.”
Brand peered back. He advanced a step and then stood close, facing the wizard. “Every story involving the Faerie and humanity is one of woe. Almost always, the sorrow has been upon the human side. This will not continue to be the way of things.”
Myrrdin nodded slowly. “I understand now how my sire felt when I abandoned him. He raged and he wept. He felt I was a traitor for a long while, that which he had raised as his own son had turned upon him. The same has happened to me this day.”
Brand nodded in return. The axe wanted him to draw it. The desire was sharp in his mind. But he resisted the urge. “You have guided us for very long, Myrrdin, and we are grateful. But those times have come to an end. I will not return the Haven to the quiet servitude of the past. We will not bend a knee to any other folk.”
“Oberon will not be pleased.”
“If Oberon has more to say on the subject, he is welcome to come and discuss it in person.”
&
nbsp; Myrrdin walked away from him then, as darkness fell over the Deepwood.
Brand was left pondering the dead giant, the broken trunk of the oak, and the huge skeleton that lay entombed within it.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Brand’s Decision
On the seventh morning, Tomkin showed up promptly at dawn. He rapped upon the door of the Rabing house with great tenacity until it was opened.
“‘Tis the end of the week,” said Tomkin, glaring up at Jak, who nodded and let him in.
Tomkin stood upon the table between the two easy chairs. Brand came in with two mugs of steaming broadleaf tea. He offered one to Tomkin who took it and drank greedily.
They eyed one another for a moment.
“You have made your decision,” said Tomkin, “I can only assume you’ve decided to swindle me, as there is no welcome in your eyes.”
“Perhaps you are right, Tomkin my friend.”
“Friend?” spat the manling. “You dare use that word? It was through the power of that word that you first robbed me of Lavatis! Do you know what they say—my folk?”
Brand smiled thinly, amused by the Wee One’s manner. Tomkin had begun to strut back and forth upon the table, gesturing with long-fingered hands. He reminded Brand of a rooster putting on a display for a flock of gullible hens.
“Tomkin the fool, Tomkin the mooncalf. That’s what they say. My own relatives snortle behind their palms. Taken by a river-boy, he who has prided himself for decades—”
“Tomkin,” interrupted Brand, “I’m giving the Jewel back to you.”
The manling froze with both hands waggling every finger high over his head. He cocked his head at Brand and for once in his long life he was struck speechless.
“That’s why my heart is heavy. You are a friend, and I fear that the Jewel will be your undoing, as it has been for so many others.”
Brand produced the Blue Jewel, which did flash like the brightest summer sky as it came out of his pocket. He tossed it, rattling on its chain, to Tomkin. The manling snatched it out of the air and held it tightly to his chest, as a mother might hug her long lost babe.
“I—” said Tomkin, halting for a moment. Brand could tell that he was almost unable to speak. The Jewel reflected in his obsidian eyes. “I can’t believe it. I know now that the Wee Folk can truly call you friend. None other has made a gift to us, other than the tip of a boot or the spittle flying from their lips.”
“I only hope the River Folk and the Wee Folk can work together now. All changelings must be removed.”
“Of course,” said Tomkin quickly. “We will guard your borders as scouts. Not a rabid squirrel will set foot in the Haven without a prompt report being made to Riverton.”
“Great,” said Brand, smiling. It was true, now that the Blue Jewel was gone from him he did feel more at ease. “Tomkin?”
“Yes, friend?”
“Just don’t lose it.”
End of Shadow Magic
BONUS Excerpt:
DARK MAGIC
(Haven Series #4 - #6)
by
B. V. Larson
Translated from the Teret, the compendium of Kindred wisdom:
Some worry that we drill too deeply. Nay, say I! Ever has it been that our strongholds do not grow upward, nor outward, but always downward and deepward. The Kindred derive their strength from the rock itself, unlike the many other races that scurry bug-like upon the cooling crust of the world. They think of us as living in cramped holes. Nothing could be further from the truth! Our worlds are infinitely larger than the surface dwellers can conceive. They stand proudly before stone towers five stories high, while the Kindred scoff at such miniature achievements. We do not need to build a city, we simply dig it out! Our walls are thousands of feet thick, our towers are as tall as we wish them to be, and a good team of Kindred miners can dig a new stone keep in a month.
Certainly, it can be argued that the creatures encountered grow in strength and ferocity as we go deeper into the Everdark. But that is only to be expected! If we keep our lanterns bright, our axes and picks sharp, we shall overcome everything that bubbles up at us from below. Let no goblin, nor spine-fin, nor tentacled thing, trouble our thoughts. The Kindred shall defeat them all in time, as we always have.
Have a care with the great wurms, however. Should one be encountered, very rare though they may be, the tunnels had best be blown down. Cleanse the dreaming mind of fantasies! The wurm means only death, not riches and glory! Fill the hole with bedrock, iron pellets and lime, then melt it all with coal-fire to make the plug hard and seal off the entrance forever against the dragon’s fire. Too many of our brethren have been burned to ash by wurms, and ever afterward our folk have sworn to never forget the lesson.
—Ursula of the Talespinners, written circa the Fourth Era of the Earthlight
Chapter One
The Ruby Tunnel
Modi’s expedition was in its third week into the Everdark. Things had gone well at first. Few monsters had been encountered and those that did come at them were small of jaw and short of tooth. The blind, croaking things that had wandered into their camp seeking a meal had been easily dispatched with flashing picks and snapping crossbows.
Along with light resistance, Modi’s company boasted many excellent finds in the deep. Milky chambers of crystalline helicates of every hue, taller than pipe organs, drew gasps of appreciation from the adventurers, but were of little value. Rich tunnels, laden with gold-flecked ore, were of somewhat more direct interest, but too heavy to be easily transported out. The nuggets of purest gold had gone into Kindred pouches as souvenirs, of course. Gemstones were plentiful, but of the less valued sort: garnets, turquoise, onyx, fiery opals and chunks of green jade crunched under their heavy boots. These thin pickings had long since been gone over by a thousand dirty hands before them.
It was only upon the third week, after they had entered and passed the region known as the Magnesium Bowels, did they find jewels that brought real smiles. Emeralds came first, only in small nodules, but often gleaming and unscratched by any pick before. Deeper still they found a network of twisting tunnels clustered with rubies. It was there, as they excitedly picked at the walls and gathered a rich harvest, the first of them fell.
A spine terror, of the sort the Everdark was famous for, took the hindmost of them unawares. Githa, their youngest and least experienced miner, was too focused on her work as she struggled to loosen a ruby as big as her fist from the ceiling. Impaled upon a six foot spine, she bled and called for aid. The rest of them set upon the beast and killed it in the normal fashion, driving a dozen pitons into the stony body and pulling the terror apart with ropes and hooks. Mindful of the thrashing spines, none of the rest of the crew had been seriously injured. But their vengeful shouts were short-lived, because Githa soon lay dead and cold upon the gritty floor of the tunnel.
Over the following days, their progress slowed as they wrapped the body and carried it with them, as was their custom. Never was a Kindred left behind in the endless dark to be gnawed by blind things, not unless no other recourse was possible. Githa would be carried up to the Earthlight and given a proper cremation, or at worst, slid down an available hot volcanic shaft if her body became too great a burden. Such were the ways of the Kindred.
Saddened by the fall of their youngest, the team gathered around Modi. Delicately, they suggested to the touchy warrior that they should head back home. He had glowered at each of them in turn, until they dared not meet his burning eyes.
“We’ll head back up,” he said finally, when he had satisfied himself that they had all felt his disdain. “But only after we’ve come to the end of this fine tunnel. We’ll take back a king’s ransom in rubies, and each of us will give an extra tenth-share to the bereaved family.”
They had eyed one another over this idea, but quickly came around to it. Having a debt to repay made them all the more willing to stay longer and gather as much as their bulging leather sacks could carry. Feeling
they were carrying on for a good cause, their spirits lifted and they sang a tune that rang from the tunnel walls, as the Kindred are apt to do in both the best and the worst situations.
Modi, for his part, did not want to return without the mission being a clear success. A death amongst the crew was not a devastating blow, such trips into the Everdark were always assumed hazardous. But his father had all but forbade him to go, and that gave him his true motivation. He wanted nothing more deeply than to prove his aged father wrong. His father was fully seven centuries old, while Modi had barely reached his second. Such an age difference between two Kindred made for a great divergence in their modes of thinking. The young were always impetuous and headstrong. And while the old were by no means weak, they were certainly more cautious.
It was Modi’s intent to demonstrate that a strong will and a mighty arm could conquer anything the Everdark had to throw at him. And so Githa’s death made him all the more driven to find something bigger. Something much more impressive than a sackful of gems. He sought a hoard that would make everyone forget Githa’s death. A hoard that would cause them to draw in their breaths and widen their eyes when they saw it.
They followed the tunnel for two days on a winding, drifting track. As they went, they soon filled every sack with red jewels of the finest quality. This didn’t stop them from mining more, however. As they went, they carefully dug through their sacks, appraising each stone with cold eyes. Anything found smaller, anything found with the slightest flaw, was discarded in favor of each newer, superior find. Most of the emeralds and even the best of the gold nuggets were dropped, replaced with blood-red rubies fit for crowns.
Modi led them down the tunnel, and he was the first to feel the all-too-familiar puff of heat in his face. It served to dry his sweat, but was otherwise an unwelcome sensation. He said nothing to his crew and pressed onward. But soon there were whispers behind him, and these whispers turned into mutterings. He fought against the urge to stop and demand them to speak plainly. Then he would thrash the first of his crew who dared open his mouth. They sensed his darkening mood. For a full day, they stayed relatively quiet.
